


I Walk the Line

by flowerpower



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Post-Credits Scene, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), fresh outta cryo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerpower/pseuds/flowerpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers spent his lifetime tiptoeing near the line that separates him and Bucky Barnes. When Bucky wakes up, Steve decides to take Bucky by his hand, and hopes to finally cross the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Walk the Line

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever published fic. I usually write for my own pleasure, send it to a few of my close friends, and keep it hidden in my laptop's folder. After I watched Civil War, I had a breakdown that lasted two weeks, and decided to write a fic. 
> 
> Title is from the song "I Walk the Line" by Johnny Cash, although I kept on listening to Halsey's version of it while writing this fic.
> 
> None of the characters are created by me. All mistakes are completely mine.

Just when they finally had a chance to have a proper conversation, it quickly turned into a heated argument. Seventy years of waiting and all of it led to _this_.

 

“ There ain’t any other way, Steve. I have to be put under. I can’t-- I _can’t_ let myself be awake, knowing that the book is still out there, and I still have no fucking idea how to control myself.” Bucky had been so desperate to convince Steve that being frozen again was the only way. The argument had started a week ago, right after all the storms that the world could possibly give. But Steve didn’t agree. He didn’t _want_ to agree. 

 

_“_ Buck, _please_ —”

 

_“_ This is my choice, Steve.” His voice had turned quieter. “Please.” 

 

The word ‘please’ stopped Steve’s mouth from uttering another word, the world in his eyes stopped in its track. Bucky’s eyes were as unreadable as his emotions, and Steve had wondered if Bucky realized how it felt like to him: to have everything that he had ever known snatched back again by the coldness. 

 

(Maybe he does.)

 

If it was Bucky’s own choice, his own decision, for the first time in seventy goddamn years, then Steve couldn’t do anything except to grant his friend’s wish. Deep inside, Steve had known that nothing could change Bucky’s decision, but it was worth the try. With Bucky, it was always worth the try.

 

The silent moment was the last thing that they shared.

 

The next day, Steve had asked again for the last time if it was the only way. He had tried to convey everything that he had felt at that moment into his eyes, to make his expressions as open as possible, so Bucky could read him like an open book. Bucky, dressed in all white, had only smiled at him. He had convinced Steve again that it was for the greater good. 

 

Steve had watched the frost spreading on the glass of the stasis, which started to find its way onto Bucky’s skin, creeping its way slowly onto his chest, his neck, then to his face. His face had looked so young; expression so peaceful, until all Steve could see was haze. In that moment, he had gathered all the energy that he had left to not simply drop on the ground and break down. 

 

Before Steve left the room, he had whispered something. Whether it had been to the air, or to the cryostasis, he had whispered something softly, so that only he could hear it.

 

A promise.

 

* * *

 

 

An anonymous caller pops on his phone screen.

 

“Nat?” He starts with an unsure voice.

 

“You guessed right.” Even through a phone, Steve could picture Natasha’s smug grin. It has been two years since Bucky went under; since Steve went away from Wakanda and cut off every single Hydra head that he could possibly find. He figures that he needed the distraction. After a rough mission, he decides to stay for a little while in Paris, in a small, cozy apartment. He might be a fugitive, but he still got a lot of dough on him, especially with T’Challa’s help.

 

“So, King T’Challa sent me a letter, saying that he might’ve found a cure for--”

 

“What? Wait. Seriously?” He instantly springs up from his bed, adrenaline already rushing through his veins, but not because of a fight. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this anymore since he was thawed. 

 

“Hey, easy, Steve. Scientists in Wakanda already came up with a program and a specialized therapy, so we could finally wake your boyfriend up.” Natasha is always so straightforward.

 

“He—” Steve lets out a breathy laugh. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

“Hmm, sure, Steve.”

 

Steve drops the topic completely. “Well, when did they finally figure it out?”

 

“Just last week. But T’Challa wanted to make sure that their program is safe and whatsoever before he announces the good news to us. He wants to let you know first, but your phone is not exactly easy to reach.”

 

“But you called me, so,” Steve finally lets himself relax and ease in a way that he had never let himself before. Bucky is still there, _in_ there, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was walking on air.

 

“I know a thing or two about hacking,” Natasha replies sarcastically. There is a silent pause. “Hey, Steve?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I just received another text from T’Challa. He said you can come to Wakanda tonight.”

 

“Wait, what?” He sits back on the bed to avoid his heart bursting out of his chest.

 

“Yeah. Apparently,” She pauses. “He has a private flight for us waiting in Paris.”

 

* * *

 

It turns out that Natasha was on the flight with Steve, quietly sipping a cup of coffee and tapping away on her phone across from him. He sees some scars on her collarbone, and one near her hairline. Her red hair is longer than he remembered from two years ago when they last saw each other; when she helped him and Bucky escape. The past couple of years must’ve been harsh for her. To be honest, it was harsh for everybody. But out of all of them, Natasha would be the one who can endure literally almost everything.

 

“Mhm, you’re staring, Steve.” She points out, and Steve quickly apologizes. “No, no, it’s fine. Nothing unusual.” 

 

“What were you doing when. . . when it was all over?” Steve asks, dubious if Natasha would want to answer his question or not. 

 

“A lot.” She smiles at him. Steve knows that smile. _That’s enough. I’ll tell you when I want to_. Steve nods curtly and sinks right back into the soft leather seat. 

 

“You didn’t tell me you were in France, too,” Steve says.

 

“Well, I’m not exactly the type that tells, right?” She simpers. “But I’m here because I know _you’re_ here. Somebody has to watch your back.”

 

“Nat, I” Steve shakes his head in disagreement. “You shouldn’t have done that. Besides, I can do this on my own.”

 

“But that’s what you and I do, right?” Her gaze softens at him. “We protect each other.”

 

Steve couldn’t feel more indebted to Natasha since she is the only one who took so much care of him before Sam steps into his lonely life. He remembers her tender embrace at the church after Peggy’s funeral, and how she held him as he lets his tears fall freely onto the fabric of her black trench coat. Most people see Natasha as a cold, distant figure, but she is one of the warmest people Steve has ever had a chance of knowing.

 

“Oh, by the way, how are you and Bucky?” Natasha asks him after an hour has passed.

 

“As I remember, the last time I saw him was two years ago.” Steve smiles ruefully. He wishes he could answer that question with something that sounds more exciting, like, _we went back to Brooklyn! Bucky and I rented an apartment and we sleep at three every night because we just love talking to each other._ But that wasn’t the reality. For the past two years, he just focused on trying to _live_ , surviving every fight without his shield, because he wants to be there when Bucky finally wakes up, no matter how long he has to wait. 

 

“I know. I mean, how were you and him, before he went back under?” She asks thoughtfully. Steve flinches a little bit at the word ‘under’. Steve knew all along that he couldn’t change anything about it, especially when it was Bucky’s choice, but his heart never lies. 

 

“We talked,” He looks down from Natasha to his shoes. “Said it was his own decision to do so. Who am I to stop him, right?”

 

“Who are _you_?” Natasha stares at him in wonder. “You are probably the reason why he hasn’t killed himself yet. He _loves_ you, Steve.” Steve’s cheeks turn a little bit red at that. “Look, I don’t know a lot about your relationship with him, but when I finally saw you two just _breathing_ in each other’s presence, it became obvious.”

 

He sighs, pulling at the blonde locks of his hair. _Why does she know everything?_

 

“I don’t want to scare him—I can’t do that to him.” 

 

“What, you think that you loving him is something bad?” 

 

“No, of course not.” Steve answers. “Not in the way you think it is,” He is living in the 21st century. Of course, it won’t be considered taboo like it would be when he was still sixteen. “I’m afraid I would scare him off, and he might be confused. I just want him to decide anything for himself. He should make choices on his own from now on. God knows how long he was stripped of that privilege.”

 

Natasha, who was previously determined to convince Steve of her opinion, slumps back in her chair. 

 

“I’m not saying that you should make out with him the second he steps out from the stasis,” She traces the rim of the coffee mug with her delicate, slender fingers. “Just set it straight. You and Bucky both deserve a home. You two have been longing for each other for too long.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve and Natasha are greeted by King T’Challa, who is all glorious and royal in his white three-piece. Steve still couldn’t wrap the idea that a king, a _king_ , wealthy and powerful, offered him help. T’Challa has helped Steve to give shelter to Wanda, Clint, Sam, and Scott, while Steve was busy cutting off Hydra heads.

 

“How was the flight, Captain?” T’Challa asks, his voice gentle.

 

“It was very pleasant. I can’t express my gratitude enough, your Highness.” Steve answers and T’Challa shakes his head in fondness.

 

“Worry not, Captain. It is my pleasure to help a friend.”

 

They are both led by a Wakandan scientist to the room where the cryo chamber was placed. Every step that Steve takes brings him closer to the moment where he will see Bucky again, and his head is spinning just by thinking about it.

 

When they finally enter the medical bay, Natasha sits on a bench while Steve looks beyond the glass on the chamber, at Bucky’s peaceful face. He wants to put his hand on the glass, but one of the scientists tells him to move because the thawing procedure is in the process. He settles by sitting beside Natasha.

 

“You ready?” Natasha turns her head to look at him, both curiosity and affection etched on her face. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve takes a deep, long breath. “I am.”

 

The door of the cryo chamber starts to hum, and within a second, cold smoke fills in the room. The door to the chamber ascends, and Steve immediately stands up from the seat, wanting to finally take a look at Bucky without the glass chamber as a barrier. But when he sees Bucky, still dead to the world, he couldn’t form a single word. Bucky’s face still holds the same expression when Steve last saw him. Peaceful. Untroubled. 

 

The scientists quickly retrieve a medical bed for Bucky to lie on, and gently guide the still-unconscious man to the bed. After one of the doctors hooks Bucky with an IV, he is rolled away to a private medical room to be examined. 

 

“Bucky will need additional fluid and vitamins from them, Steve.” Just like that, she instantly reads his mind. Steve knows exactly what the IV bags do, but paranoia comes easily into his brain, especially after watching multiple videos of Bucky’s time with Hydra. The videos aren’t so hard to find, as Natasha dumped every single intel on the internet several years ago. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles at her. “I know.”

 

Natasha pats his shoulder and walks ahead of him. 

 

“Come on, Rogers. You wanna be there when your best friend wakes up, don’t you?”

 

They both walk at a decent pace to the medical bay, all quiet but comfortable in each other’s company. T’Challa is already gone, but Steve understands. A king would have a lot of work to be done. 

 

One of the staffs spots them nearing the medical bay, and quickly introduces them to the doctor that takes care of Bucky. He predicts that Bucky will wake up in less than an hour, as the process will be natural. In Steve’s mind, he sees glimpses of Bucky being showered with gallons of iced water and being forced to regain his consciousness in a split-second. Steve shakes his head and reminds himself that all of them are in Wakanda, and the last of Hydra, if they still even exist, has to face the mightiest king and warrior on Earth before they could touch Bucky.

 

The nurse provides him and Natasha with two chairs on either side of the hospital bed, and Natasha sits by Bucky’s left side. She leaves Steve with no choice but to sit by Bucky’s right side, where his hand lies limply on the white sheets. Steve, without a word, takes Bucky’s hand into his own and latches onto it tenderly. He absently circles his thumb on Bucky’s relaxed hand and whispers Bucky’s name over and over again like a prayer onto the calloused skin. His voice is so quiet that nobody could possibly hear it, except for Natasha, who hears him just fine. Natasha spares him by not saying anything about it.

 

The doctor was right. In under an hour, Bucky’s hand twitches inside Steve’s, and Steve hurriedly lets go of his hand. Suddenly, a low groan could be heard. Natasha waves at the doctor, who is waiting outside the glass room, and quickly comes in with a tablet to record Bucky’s medical status.

 

“Sergeant Barnes, can you hear me?” The doctor speaks.

 

“It’s Bucky. . .” His voice comes in a slur but it’s still audible to Steve and Natasha. “M’name’s Bucky.” At this point, Steve loses all of his ability to enunciate a word. 

 

“Okay,” The doctor types something on the tablet before proceeding. “Can you open your eyes, Bucky?”

 

He finally opens his eyes, and the first thing that he sees is Steve’s painfully hopeful face. Then he looks to his left to see Natasha, smiling at him.

 

“Steve,” He utters. “It’s you.”

 

“Yeah, Buck, it’s me. It’s me.” Steve’s voice breaks under Bucky’s warm gaze. 

 

“How long was I under?” He asks in a quiet tone.

 

“Two years,” The doctor informs him. “We believe we have found a cure for you, Mr. Barnes.”

 

He chuckles. “Is it safe here?”

 

“Certainly,” Natasha adds. “You’re in Wakanda, under King T’Challa’s protection. No one could get to you here.” Bucky shuts his eyes momentarily and then decides that he is ready to get up from the bed. The doctors double-check his health before letting him out of the medical bay. After walking through long, minimalistic and unrealistically high-ceilinged hallways, the three of them stop in the middle of a corridor that leads to the residential wing. 

 

“I’m gonna stay in my room for a while,” Bucky tells Natasha and Steve, but Steve could sense the hesitation is his friend’s voice. He suspects that Bucky is still getting used to telling people the things that please him. 

 

“Of course, Buck.” Steve smiles at him for what seemed like the hundredth time. He wants to ask if Bucky would like to join dinner with the others tonight, but he refrains from doing so. He assumes that Bucky will want to be alone for now, and Steve will be more than happy to do anything that makes his best friend comfortable and content.

 

“I’ll see you later, Steve.” Bucky puts his right hand on Steve’s shoulder for a brief moment, and Steve is a little taken aback by it, but he doesn’t flinch. Bucky nods politely at Natasha, and she mutters something in Russian to him. Steve could catch a few words like _rest_ ** _,_** _it’s alright_ , _I’m sure_ , and _he is_. He replies back in Russian, and finally separates himself from the little group. 

 

Steve wishes he knows enough Russian.

 

* * *

 

 

T’Challa is indeed really kind to give Steve and Bucky a place to stay. Their bedrooms are located next to each other, and each room is equipped with generic furniture, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the jungle. The sun is slowly creeping behind the trees, leaving the sky in resplendent colors. Steve is now alone in his room, pondering about nothing. He never feels this pleasantly empty and he finds it oddly relaxing. But he would be completely lying if he doesn’t think of at least one thing. Or one person, to be exact.

 

He wonders if Bucky is truly happy to back with him. From Steve’s eyes, his smile and laugh are unquestionably sincere and genuine. Yet every time he looks right into Bucky’s eyes, there is something that he could not quite put his finger on. Sadness. _Longing_. 

 

Maybe Bucky is still afraid that he would be triggered, or he might wish to just live alone like he did for the past two years. Steve wants to knock on his friend’s bedroom door, ask him if he is doing fine, but he figures that Bucky probably wants the space and the silence. Steve ensures that he will give anything that Bucky needs or wants.

 

As the sun finally disappears from the horizon, Steve darkens the windows with the switch beside his bed and turns on the small yellow lights on the ceiling. It isn’t so hard to fall asleep, now that he knows that Bucky is safe and breathing in the room next to his, and he could see his friends again. 

 

When Steve’s eyelids begin to droop, a few calm knocks echo throughout the room. Steve’s senses are back awake in a second. He instructs for the mysterious knocker to come in, although he could already figure out who is standing behind the door.

 

There, Bucky stands as a dark silhouette against the bright white lights from outside of the room. He slowly walks inside and shuts the door behind him. His white sweatshirt and black sweatpants give Steve a clear view of how much Bucky has changed over the decades. The Bucky that Steve knew from his childhood had a fairly fit body. This Bucky, on the other hand. . . Steve could tell from the looks of it that Bucky’s strength is undeniable, and he could pin Steve down to the floor at any moment. The muscles on his right arm are well defined even as a silhouette, but the left sleeve is dangling awkwardly on his side. Steve smiles at him instantly.

 

“Did I wake you up?” Bucky asks in a hushed voice. 

 

No, Steve isn’t about to tell him that he was just thinking about the man as he was falling asleep.

 

“I was just on my phone,” Steve says plainly, but then he quickly realizes that his phone is resting on top of the drawer on the far side of the room. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

 

“You,” Bucky chuckles. “Ain’t good enough a liar, pal. If I woke you up then I should go back.” 

 

“No — ” Steve gets up from his bed in a sudden, and before he could process his action, he takes Bucky’s hand. “Don’t,” He clears his throat. “I could use some company.” At that, Bucky lets out a slow breath and sits on the foot of the bed. Steve joins him.

 

“I just wanted to see how you are,” Bucky shifts his gaze to the brown carpet on the floor. Steve watches Bucky digs his feet to the soft thick fur of the carpet. Everything about Bucky is always so hypnotizing, so fascinating to watch. “We have almost a century to catch up on.”

 

Steve laughs. “Well, here I am, Buck.” He refrains from asking Bucky the questions he always wants to ask.

 

“What did you do while I was asleep?” Bucky asks. Sensing that the conversation would be along one, Steve chooses to lean back again on the headboard, and stretch his legs beside Bucky. 

 

“I did all I could to straighten things out,” He confesses. “To make sure no one’s gonna harm you when you wake up.”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “I still don’t think I’m worth all the trouble, Steve.” 

 

“Buck, you know what you did — ”

 

“Like I said before, I know I wasn’t in control.” He suspires in exasperation. “But I did it. And I remember all of it.” He raises his right hand bitterly. “I remember the things that this hand did, how many people—and this isn’t including the things that I did with my left hand.” Steve looks at the stump on Bucky’s left shoulder and remembers how it all went down: Bucky was so enraged that he literally tried to rip the arc reactor out of Tony’s suit. He remembers the look on Bucky’s face, knees on the ground, as they both realized that Bucky was without an arm. When Steve saw that Bucky’s arm was gone, for a minute or two he did not think about his moral compass or his obligation as Captain America. In that moment, all he wanted to do was to make Tony learn. 

 

In that moment, Steve’s dark side was revealed. 

 

“Did it still hurt?” Steve asks, the concern in his voice is ever-present. After all, Bucky lost his arm because Steve didn’t get up just fast to protect Bucky. He figures that he has his whole lifetime to blame himself.

 

“No. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. But I still have this feeling. . . that somehow my left arm was still there. But when I looked, it’s not there.” Bucky sighs.

 

“So it’s a reflex memory,” Steve remarks.

 

“I guess so,” Bucky’s expression is hard to read. “Just like how I still have a few reflex memories from the past. Even when I’m — ” He tries to find the right word. “—not myself, my subconsciousness screamed for me to protect you.”

 

Steve isn’t aware of the hot tears that threaten to fall anytime soon.

 

“When I was finally myself, it’s the only thing that I remember, down to my bones,” Bucky admits. “You saw my notebook, right?”

 

Steve silently nods.

 

“It took me hundreds of flashbacks and nightmares and dreams to piece things together. Who I was, who I’ve become.” Bucky starts to idly play with the hem of the bed sheets. “But when it comes to you, I just. . . _know_. I gotta protect this scrawny li’l punk even though he’s big as hell now.”

 

With that, Steve reaches out for Bucky, a movement so natural and instinctive to him, and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, and miraculously, Bucky replies the gesture. This time, in the dimly lit room with no one watching them, Steve takes the privilege to remain in Bucky’s embrace for a long time. He inhales Bucky’s fresh scent, buries his nose in the dark hair, and weeps silently. Bucky’s arm tightens around Steve, and the next thing that they know, they are both holding on to each other like there is no tomorrow. It is almost like the universe itself finally agrees on letting them be together for a little while, and that, for Steve, is a lifetime wish fulfilled. He could feel Bucky’s thumb circling his skin, trying to soothe him, and he finally sobs loudly onto his friend’s shirt. 

 

“Oh, Stevie. . .” Bucky’s voice is so gentle, so calming. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re like this. How could I not _know_?”

 

“Ain’t your fault, Buck. You were gone.” Steve still smiles despite the tears that wouldn’t stop coming out. 

 

“Jesus, Steve. You walk around and punch your way out and it seems like there’s nothing that could hurt you, but look at you,” Now Bucky’s fingers are pulling at Steve’s short blond locks softly, warmth filling in their veins. “You take the weight of the world on your shoulders, but those shoulders ain’t even strong enough to carry your own.” 

 

“When you went under, it was like I lost everything. You, Peggy,” Steve’s voice is muffled by Bucky’s shirt. “Peggy is in a better place now, but you. . . you’re still alive. There’s a possibility that we could. . .”

 

“But you have your new friends, too, Steve. They’re right downstairs, and you can go to them instead of being reckless and trying to get yourself killed by protecting me.” Bucky protests. “I’ve watched you _struggle_ a long time ago, fighting so hard just to be able to _breathe_. And here we are, seventy goddamn years later, and I finally watched you through my own eyes, struggling to breathe again, because my fingers were wrapped tight around your neck.”

 

Steve shakes his head, back away just a little bit from Bucky’s clutch so he could look at him right in the eye. 

 

“You know I can’t stop. Not when it comes to you.” 

 

“I know.” Bucky gazes at him fondly. He pulls away completely from Steve’s arms and abruptly walks out the door. Steve almost wants to get up and catch up with his friend, but within ten seconds, Bucky is back in Steve’s room with a notebook in his hand. Steve realizes that it’s a different notebook than the one that he saw in Bucky’s apartment in Romania. Bucky nudges the book into Steve’s hand, and he takes it.

 

“Read it,” Bucky says, his tone suddenly devoid of emotion.

 

Steve slowly opens the small notebook and reads Bucky’s scrawls on the thin paper. Surprisingly, he could still recognize his friend’s handwriting. He starts to read the first page in silence, and the man in front of him doesn’t utter a word either.

 

The first entry was written just a few weeks after the incident in Washington D.C. when the helicarriers fell into the Potomac. The entry is a short one, but it still sends chills down Steve’s spine.

 

_Went to the Smithsonian, and saw the exhibits of Captain America. The man during his pre-serum state is more recognizable than the man now._

 

He reads the next entry, which is written two months after the first entry.

 

_I thought he was dead. I saw the newspapers. All the headline titles that I saw in the 40s were wrong. He is alive. Hydra was wrong._

 

Then he reads all the entries in the journal.

 

_Woke up from a dream. Steve and I were drinking a smoothie at the nearest diner from our apartment. I could almost smell the strawberries in the drink. Could picture his eyelashes against his pale skin as he sucked on the straw intently. His laugh is still ringing in my head._

 

_December (I think.) He was shivering. Badly. I ran outside to grab any medicine that I could. Went back and he was just silently shaking in our bed. It was too cold. I wrapped a blanket around his tiny body, but he still shivered. I panicked. I used the heat of my body to warm him up, cradling him against my chest. The shivering stopped within thirty minutes._

 

Bucky still stays quiet. Steve keeps on reading until he stumbles across one entry that knocks the air out of his lungs straight away.

 

_The night before I went to war. A dark room. His small, slender fingers were tracing my jawline, my cheekbones, my lips. His tears fell on my skin. I used my thumb to wipe it away from his face. He said I shouldn’t go. He said I should stay. I wished I could. I wished I had stayed. So I covered his body with mine. Kissed him goodnight._

 

Steve looks up from the notebook to Bucky, who is now watching him earnestly. 

 

“Y—you remember?” His voice comes out as a rasp.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky takes the notebook from Steve’s hands and puts it in the bedside drawer. “Took me awhile. . . But,” He takes a deep breath. “You don’t easily forget that kind of moment, Stevie.”

 

Steve doesn’t know how to react. He is wordless, but Bucky is not. 

 

“I,” His blue eyes are staring right into Steve’s, fierce but tender at the same time. “I loved you.” He says it like it is a universally known fact; that Bucky Barnes was indeed in love with Steve Rogers. “I love you.”

 

Really, it only takes those three words coming out from Bucky’s mouth for Steve to shut up. In any other day, any other subject of conversation, Steve always has something to say. But not now, not when Bucky is staring at him, fiery blue eyes piercing through his brain, clearly waiting for an answer. Steve has crossed a lot of lines in his lifetime, metaphorically and literally, but he never dares to walk on this particular line. Nevertheless, they both have walked on many lines; from strangers to friends, friends to best friends. But he lets the pining to go on and on because he was and is still too afraid to tell Bucky; to walk the last line.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. “Say something, buddy. Don’t leave me hanging here.” He smiles nervously, and Steve finally has the courage to look into Bucky’s eyes. The light in his blue eyes starts to dim as the seconds go by without an answer. The blond finally reaches out, his hand lightly tracing the outlines of Bucky’s face. In a flash, it feels like they are back in time. Steve’s thumb stops on Bucky’s flushed lips. He could feel the huffed breaths on his skin. 

 

“That night was hard for me, Buck,” Steve says. To be honest, every night has been hard for him since Bucky left their small apartment to go to war. “But,” He continues, “you’re here. You’re here now.” Now, he’s trying to convince himself. “I can’t—I can’t wait another day to tell you, too.”

 

Bucky takes Steve’s hand from his face and presses it against his chest. Steve could feel the steady yet quick _thu-thump_ , _thu-thump_ of the man’s heartbeat.

 

“It’s for you, Steve. Always has been. Always will be.” At once, Bucky unhurriedly and gently pushes Steve back on the mattress, and Steve helps Bucky to balance his weight by sustaining the left side of Bucky’s body. His right hand slowly maps out Steve’s body, just like Steve did to him before, until there’s no skin that hasn’t been touched by Bucky’s fingers. Bucky lets himself fall further until he could see the details of Steve’s eyelashes, down to every color of his irises. Bucky chuckles to himself.

 

“Zemo was right.” He says. “You _do_ have a little bit of green in your eyes.”

 

Steve lets out a loud breath.

 

“I love you, Bucky.” Four words were all it takes for him to walk the line. “I love you. You’re my head, you’re my heart, you’re just—”

 

Bucky shuts him up by capturing Steve’s lips with his own, and finally, Steve remembers just how familiar the taste of Bucky’s mouth is, even though it has been almost a century. He immediately closes his eyes, afraid that seeing Bucky pulling him apart at the seams like _this_ , feeling the older man’s tongue prying his mouth open, might shatter him to pieces. His free hand instantly finds itself on Bucky’s nape, and he pulls Bucky right down so that they are chest to chest. Bucky gasps audibly against his mouth, and lets his right hand rakes through Steve’s soft blond locks, taking everything in. He grazes his teeth gently on Steve’s bottom lip, and suddenly, things seem to be too bright and surreal. Bucky pulls away from the kiss and buries his nose under Steve’s jaw, before sucking the soft, pale skin of his neck. Steve moans at the sensation, a feeling that he hasn’t fulfilled for so many years until now. He knows that that won’t leave a mark, but he couldn’t care less. As Bucky draws away, Steve could see his shiny lips, so flushed and so fucking plump that Steve might as well cry from the sight.

 

“You know, the cure might or might not work on me,” Bucky tells him in a soft voice, careful not to change the mood in the room, but in an instant, Steve could feel reality slowly creeping up inside the plane of his mind, and realizes that this might not last as long as he thought it would.

 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve tucks Bucky’s dark locks behind his ear. “It’s tomorrow, right? The beginning of the treatments?”

 

Bucky says yes, and for a second, he turns his gaze away from Steve’s.

 

“Hey, we don’t worry about it right now. We have a lot of time to worry about it later.” Steve wants to ignore the reality really badly. Sometimes, the twisted part of his brain tells him that he is cursed forever, and his happy moments won’t last more than twenty-four hours. But for now, Steve shakes the distressing thought out of his head and focuses on Bucky’s soft gaze instead. The universe is kind enough to let them be wrapped inside each other’s arms like this, and Steve won’t waste any second of it.

 

“Okay,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s lips. “Now you gotta help me get outta these clothes, Rogers.”

 

Steve smirks. “On it, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very well appreciated, especially for my first published fic! (i am very thirsty for comments, actually.)
> 
> I wrote this fic within six hours, in a sleep-deprived state.
> 
> scream about steve and bucky with me on my tumblr: thebuckyfiles.tumblr.com


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